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"Displacent is successful. We have exited the Subspace."
The Navigator sat in his life-sustaining chair. His third eye blazed with residual warp-sight. He spoke across the vox-channels: "All stations, comply with battle readiness! The Emperor's Light shields us from the void's malice!"
Roboute Guilliman stood on the command dais. His transhuman fra had the kind of authority that conquered a hundred worlds in the Emperor's na.
The bridge stretched below him in tiers, with galleries humming with Imperial war machinery. Servitors and officers moved through forests of cogitator banks and tactical displays, following centuries of Legion doctrine.
Officers barked orders while Chapter serfs tended the systems. The air thrumd with plasma conduits and the soft chanting of machine-spirits.
"Raise the void shields and seal the blast shutters."
The Primarch's voice reached every corner of the bridge without the need for vox-amplification. His enhanced vocal cords allowed him to project his voice clearly across the entire space.
Adamantium plates rose over the observation ports, and the shutters parted to reveal what lay beyond.
The Osiris Cluster spread out before them.
From space, the stellar nursery looked impressive.
Stellar winds and supernovae had shaped vast nebular formations that spiralled outward from the cluster's burning heart. Where newborn stars lit up the gas clouds, coronas of blue and red painted the void in colours that had inspired Imperial poets.
But Guilliman's mind saw the deadly truth under all this beauty. The cluster's splendour hid a radiation-burned furnace.
Unprotected human flesh would cook in minutes. The sa stellar winds that made it look so magnificent carried death in every particle.
Not every system in the cluster had this curse. Worlds orbiting in the outer reaches had spawned life. During humanity's first spread from Terra, these planets had welcod colonial expeditions. The colonies did well until the Age of Strife tore the galaxy apart.
When the Warp storms stopped and the Great Crusade reached the Osiris Cluster, many scattered settlents had turned into barbarism or worse.
Glenn Wosoto, the Thirteenth Legion's previous commander, had made contact with the natives of the Sepeiris System. He delivered the Emperor's words of unity and extended the Imperium's embrace to these lost children of humanity.
Their response was treachery.
The peace negotiations hid a suicide strike that killed Wosoto and his senior staff. The sa attack destroyed the Legion's flagship, the Thunder of Thessaly.
According to the latest Departnto Munitorum dispatches, the chanicum was already sending a replacent. A Gloriana-class battleship with its best innovations would serve as the Legion's new flagship.
"Incoming transmission!" the communications officer announced. "Imperial authentication confird. Fleet sequence registered. Requesting permission to establish contact."
"Grant it," Guilliman commanded.
A red-robed chanicum adept approached the console. His chadendrites interfaced directly with the machine spirit as binary code filled the air. The bridge's cogitator array responded with electronic hymns.
In its nutrient bath, a servitor-skull's jaw worked without sound. The holographic projector flickered to life and showed the image of a weathered Astartes commander.
Scars marked his features, badges of honour earned in the Emperor's service.
"Lord Primarch, I am Marius Gage. Forgive for not greeting you personally when you arrived with the fleet."
"Your duty cos before ceremony," Guilliman replied with warmth. "You don't need to apologise for doing your job."
"Nevertheless, I felt I should have made the ti."
"We're eting now, even if circumstances delayed us. Don't worry about it." The Primarch's smile revealed genuine affection for his gene-son. "I order you, don't ntion this again."
"As you will, my lord." Gage nodded respectfully.
"Tell about Sepeiris," Guilliman said, his tone getting serious.
"A tragedy born from our own overconfidence, Lord Primarch. Too many victories had made us sloppy." Gage's voice carried the weight of hard experience. "We approached Sepeiris like it was routine compliance. We never suspected the xenos threat until they detonated their antimatter device. Only then did we understand what we were really facing."
"Our investigations, done with chanicum help, found evidence pointing to a psychic xenos species. We've designated them the Osiris Cerebral Parasites."
A tactical display appeared before Guilliman, showing the alien's image in clinical detail. The creature stood unnaturally tall and thin, encased in technology that blurred the line between organic tissue and chanical parts.
Guilliman read through the Magos Biologis's dissection reports quickly.
These Osiris Cerebral Parasites had psychic abilities that didn't fit standard Imperial classifications. Every individual showed strong warp-sensitivity. Their bodies existed in a quasi-corporeal state that suggested they partly lived in the Immaterium itself.
They fed themselves by eating living neural tissue. Specifically, the brains of sentient beings, which served as their main food. Their psychic dominance could shatter most mortal minds. The parasites turned independent beings into at-puppets dancing to alien will.
The few individuals who could resist psychic domination faced worse fates, being burned alive by warp fla, tortured for entertainnt or kept as especially prized food.
Their society functioned similarly to Terran nomadic cultures. The parasites lived aboard a massive void-craft that drifted between star systems. Each fleet took what it wanted from worlds before moving on, leaving empty husks behind.
The chanicum's mory-extraction protocols had revealed their typical harvest thods. Initial psychic manipulation would stir up conflict and chaos among the target populations.
Once enough weakness had been created, direct intervention followed. Mass enslavent ca before systematic predation. They reserved physically gifted individuals as delicacies to eat aboard their fleets.
"These creatures work like nomadic predator tribes," Guilliman observed.
He analysed the intelligence with the kind of tactical skill that had made him famous among his brother Primarchs.
"Exactly, my lord. The xenos avoid direct fights, preferring to corrupt local populations for infiltration and sabotage." Gage's expression darkened. "Their mind-control abilities make conventional security pointless. A single infiltrator can compromise an entire vessel."
"What do you suggest we do?"
"We've restructured the Legion and promoted new officers to replace our losses. The chanicum has promised psychic shielding technology and protective field generators. With these assets, we plan to launch a new assault."
"That's a solid plan, but these parasites won't wait around for our convenience. They'll probably withdraw rather than face our strength directly." Guilliman identified the strategy's main weakness with surgical precision.
"Too many good warriors have died, my lord. We want blood for their sacrifice."
"Then what do you recomnd?" Gage asked.
"We need to hit back with lightning speed," Guilliman declared. "Conventional forces are vulnerable to psychic subversion. Even our Knight Houses and Naval assets could be turned against us. Imagine the disaster if our own allies pointed their weapons at Imperial targets."
Gage frowned. "Then how do we proceed, Lord Primarch?"
"We won't fight a conventional war. Instead, we'll put together a precision strike force," Guilliman explained. "Like a surgeon's blade, we'll cut straight to the enemy's heart. We'll cut off their command structure and let the rest wither."
"These Cerebral Parasites' psychic mastery suggests a species-wide ntal network linking their consciousness. Remove the directing intelligence, and the body dies."
"A decapitation strike?" Gage's understanding sharpened.
Guilliman nodded. "We'll work out the tactical details when we et in person."
"Understood, Lord Primarch."
After giving the ritual bow of respect, Gage's image flickered and died. The display went dark.
Guilliman looked through the observation port at the distant fleet formation. The vessels hung in the void like iron mountains. Their size impressed even soone who had watched Gloriana-class battleships being built.
Smaller escorts kept protective formations around the capital ships. Transport craft moved between vessels, their engine flares painting brief stars against the cosmic darkness.
Work gangs laboured on hull repairs, their cutting torches creating constellation patterns across damaged armour plating.
After completing identity verification protocols, Guilliman's transport joined the fleet's outer periter. Several Thunderhawk gunships launched, carrying the Primarch and his Invictarii Guard toward the Thirteenth Legion's temporary flagship.
Ten minutes later, with the thunder of retro-thrusters, the transport craft settled onto the receiving deck. Magnetic clamps engaged with a final clang. Pressure equalisation systems hissed and vented atmosphere while hydraulic systems groaned as the forward ramp ca down.
Legion Master Marius Gage waited for them, flanked by the Legion's senior commanders. Among them stood Captain Hilax of the Destroyer Companies. His Terran origins marked him as an old guard who had served since before Guilliman's discovery.
Along with the Astartes were the chroniclers and rembrancers, naval admirals with representatives from the Knight Houses and Titan Legions, and scarlet-robed chanicum Magi.
The assembled officials watched as ten warriors erged from the transport's hold. Each wore plus marking them as the Primarch's personal guard. Their Mark IV plate glead with sacred oils, and double-headed aquila cloaks fluttered from their shoulders in the artificial breeze from atmospheric processors.
Then ca their gene-father himself.
Roboute Guilliman walked down the ramp with asured dignity.
His artificer armour showed his status through every crafted detail. Blue ceramite bore golden accents that caught and reflected the deck's lighting. The great aquila spread its wings across his chest, and a laurel wreath of gold crowned his brow, a link to Macragge's traditions and Terra's golden age.
The Primarch looked across the assembled crowd, and his features brightened with genuine pleasure.
"It's my great honour to stand among you all."
Marius Gage knelt first, followed by the company commanders and veteran captains. This gesture of loyalty ca not from being forced but from the deep bonds between gene-father and his sons, a connection that went beyond re military hierarchy.
Though the Council of Terra had put restrictions on Primarch authority over their Legions, the genetic kinship and personal magnetism of these superhuman leaders still ensured their warriors' absolute devotion.
Guilliman approached Gage personally. He grasped the Legion Master's shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
"Will you follow in service to our father's grand design?"
"You are my commander and my lord," Gage declared with conviction. "I pledge my life and honour to your service until the galaxy burns cold and the last star dies."
"I'm honoured by your trust," Guilliman replied warmly. "Now, let us discuss the fate of these Cerebral Parasites."
Hidden in the crowd, rembrancers activated pict-capture devices and unrolled parchnt. The chroniclers were determined to preserve this mont of Imperial history through their art.
...
Several light cruisers, famous for their speed, separated from the fleet formation.
The Legion would return to the Sepeiris System and unleash their vengeance on the xenos who had dared to spill Astartes blood.
Their plasma drives lit up as the ships prepared for short-range warp translation to the Sepeiris System, carrying death in the Emperor's na.
[End of Chapter]
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